Not Like Him
by hippiechic
Summary: After being married happily ever after, Marron and Yamcha face the difficulties of having a teenage son. Introducing Hancha!


Disclaimer: I do not own Marron, Goku or Yamcha. The character of Hancha was created by Kinomi, and I am borrowing him with her permission and encouragement. If you would like to write about him, please contact her at kinomi@kinomiville.net  
  
A/N: Yeah, it's another story by me. I'm just really glad to have finally gotten it written. Inspiration has been hard to come by lately. Just the same, I hope you enjoy.  
  
"I hate him! I hate him so much! I just wish he would die already!" Marron winced as her son yelled, directing his frustrations toward her. "He just doesn't understand! He'll never understand! He can't!"  
  
Why did this have to keep happening? Didn't they understand how they were hurting her? They were father and son, family. Shouldn't that account for something? The two were so much alike it was uncanny, and yet all they seemed capable of in communication - or lack thereof - was fighting. If only they knew.  
  
Marron finished pouring two glasses of cool lemonade and set one in front of her son and then sat across the bar from him. "What happened, Hancha? What is it your father doesn't understand?"  
  
Hancha made a particularly sour face, even for the teenager he was. "Nothing. He doesn't understand a thing! He's old and stuck in his ways. He's never been out in the real world with out being a big baseball super star. It bet he can't even remember what it was like to be a teenager."  
  
Marron swirled the perfectly cubed ice around, looking into her glass for an answer, a sign, anything. After a few moments' silence she lifted her eyes to her son, the thick locks of his father's ebony hair hanging in his blue eyes in a rebelliously fashionable style. "In a way, maybe you're right," she softly spoke.  
  
Hancha's startled eyes focused on hers. "What do you mean?" he probed for a more in depth response.  
  
"Just what I said." Marron repeated, "In a way, maybe you're right." She paused, thinking of how to phrase her thoughts in a manner to pacify rather than anger the highly combustible youth.  
  
"Your father probably doesn't remember much about being a teenager. In many ways I don't think he ever was one." She gauged her son's confused reaction over the rim of her glass as she took another sip.  
  
"Mom, how can you just get older without ever being a teenager, and then you're just grown?" Hancha reasoned aloud. "Riiight."  
  
Marron sighed wearily in reply. "Your father grew up really early. He was an orphan. By the time he was your age he was living on his own, wondering where he would find his next meal."  
  
Hancha was quiet for a moment before a soft, "Oh," slipped from his lips. "Why.why didn't he ever tell me that?"  
  
"Did you ever think he might be protecting you?" Marron conjectured. "He always wanted to be for you the strong man he never had. He wanted you to have better, to be more." She thought for a few seconds as she took another drink before standing. "Follow me," she softly commanded, not waiting for her son to follow.  
  
In complete reverence, Hancha rose and silently followed his mother from the room.  
  
In the rear of the house, Marron paused in front of a closed wooden door and gripping the brass knob; she slowly opened the door to reveal an empty room. As she entered she clicked on a lamp, filling the room with soft yellow light and warming the strong gold, maroon and chocolate palette.  
  
Hancha followed the blonde into the room, almost in a state of shocked awe. "This is Dad's study?" he half questioned, receiving a curt nod as reply.  
  
When she reached the middle of the large room, Marron turned to face the young man. "What would you do if you could do anything? If you didn't have to think about school, your friends, family, what would you do?"  
  
For the umpteenth time within the past few minutes Hancha wore a bewildered expression on his strikingly handsome face. "If I were completely free.?" he mused. "Well, I'd probably travel. I'd go see the world on my own, sleep under the stars, live off the land for a while.. Why do you ask?"  
  
"Travel," Marron echoed. "Let me show you something else you've never seen." She turned and approached an armoire. Opening a drawer, she pulled out a large red cloth. "Look at this." She gently placed the folded material into her son's waiting arms. "Be careful. It's old."  
  
Not exactly sure what he was supposed to do, Hancha stared at the fabric before hesitantly opening it wide. "It's a cape?" That couldn't be right. Could it?  
  
Marron nodded solemnly, and before he could further interrogate her, she closed the drawer and opened the cabinet doors to reveal the glint of light striking steel from within. Opening the doors wide so Hancha could see everything contained within clearly, she spoke softly, "He chose to travel too." With that she took a step back to allow Hancha full access.  
  
Slowly Hancha took one reluctant step toward the gaping hole then another. His eyes were wide, as was his mouth. Laggardly his right hand reached forward to touch the cold, hard steel reality before him. Hancha gently fingered the ornate designs on the breastplate hanging before him, a sheathed sword lying before it. A million different questions danced across his mind.  
  
Sensing her son's wonder, Marron once again stepped forward to stand over his shoulder. "He was a desert bandit," she softly explained.  
  
"A bandit? Dad?" Hancha turned to face the small woman. "I can't believe it."  
  
"Don't take my word for it. Look at the equipment right in front of you," Marron refuted his disbelief.  
  
Hancha did as told, still in awe at the discovery of his father's past. "Why didn't he ever say anything? I knew he had always been friends with Son Goku, but Dad never said anything else about being young except about his baseball years and warnings about Bulma-type women. He's so secretive, like he's hiding something. He's never even let me in here before." He ran his hand down the scabbard taking in each ornamental bump and furrow along the way. It certainly was a thing of beauty and obviously function; at least at one time it had been.  
  
"I guess he feels he's protecting you," Marron suggested.  
  
"Protecting me? How is hiding his past protecting me?" Hancha spun to face her.  
  
A small smile graced Marron's lips as her eyes filled with love. "When he looks at you he sees himself. He sees a bright-eyed young man filled with potential, and he thinks of the years of his life he wasted. He wanted better for his son. I guess he didn't want to give you ideas or anything to keep you from being more than he allowed himself."  
  
Hancha's eyes narrowed and mouth drew up as he bitterly spat, "I'm not like him. I'm nothing like that man."  
  
"Oh?" One elegant blonde brow lifted from its normal position. "Is that what you think?"  
  
Graceful ebony locks flowed across his face as Hancha nodded his head. "I never have and never will be like him."  
  
Marron gazed into her son's eyes, looking into his soul. "You already are," she affirmed in a quiet, assured tone. The skepticism on her son's features prompted her to continue. "You have a good heart and strong sense of duty. You would do anything for your family and friends. Your father died for his, twice.  
  
"You're intelligent, shy and strong-willed with a thirst for adventure. All these fit your father much more than me. You may not see it now, but in so many ways, you are exactly like him." Marron paused to give her son a proud smile as she laid her hand upon his, squeezing it reassuringly. "And I wouldn't have it any other way.  
  
"You stay here and look things over some more while I go find something for supper," she instructed, leaning forward to kiss her baby's forehead. "I love you." Marron gave his hand one last gentle squeeze and a reassuring, confidently proud smile before turning to the door for her exit.  
  
As Marron reached the open doorway, doorknob in hand, she heard a voice from behind her.  
  
"Mom?" her son called hesitantly.  
  
With a loving smile only a mother can possess, Marron turned to her son and nodded. "Yes. He loves you too." Seeing her son's satisfied reaction, she closed the door and went back to the kitchen, passing Yamcha, who was now sitting at the bar mulling over his own glass of lemonade.  
  
Upon hearing her entrance, Yamcha lifted his eyes to his still very youthful looking wife and sighed as she walked to his side, placing her arms around his neck, resting on his still massive shoulders. "I blew it; didn't I?" he asked rhetorically.  
  
With a quick yet elegant movement, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and then peered directly into Yamcha's eyes with a sage-like knowing smile. "Don't be so sure about that. He's a teenager. He doesn't think anyone knows what he's going through, much less understands. But somehow, I think that's going to change. Just don't be condescending, and let him know you know and care about him and his life. That's all, sweetheart." She finished with a soft kiss to his forehead.  
  
Yamcha smiled back softly. "You sound so sure. I wish I had your faith." He placed both his hands on Marron's petite hips and pulled her to him.  
  
"How can I not have such faith when this concerns my two favorite guys in the world?" she leaned in to rest her thighs between his spread knees and smiled at her love.  
  
Yamcha couldn't help but allow his face to reflect her expression as he silently mused about how fortunate he was to have found such a wonderful woman to call his own. "Thank you. I needed that."  
  
"Good." Marron lightly kissed the corner of his mouth. "I'm glad I could help." She pulled back and moved to preheat the oven for supper.  
  
A minute later, Marron was collecting the ingredients for her chicken-rice casserole, and Yamcha finishing his drink when Hancha entered, a dazed look on his face. Hearing the noise, Marron turned around and smiled, "Hi honey." While her other half simply raised a curious brow.  
  
Hancha gave his mother a half smile before grabbing a few snicker doodles from the cookie jar and taking a seat on the stool beside his father.  
  
"Don't ruin your appetite," Marron softly chided as she sat a full glass of milk on the bar's smooth top for Hancha, who offered no reply as he took a drink. Before returning to her work, she placed a soft, reassuring hand on Yamcha's arm and smiled encouragement when he lifted his salt and pepper covered head.  
  
Yamcha returned the gentle smile and watched as his girl tended to their supper. Slowly he tore his eyes away and studied his essentially estranged son finishing his milk.  
  
As the last of his milk slid coolly down his throat, Hancha put his glass down with a soft clang and wiped his mouth clean with the back of his hand, eliciting a slight frown from Yamcha.  
  
"Use a napkin," Marron corrected; the eyes in the back of her head working double time as she stirred the rice.  
  
"Yes, Mother," Hancha replied with a guilty look.  
  
Yamcha could not contain his amusement at the situation as he turned a mischievous smile toward his son and winked. Hancha watched curiously as Yamcha turned his grin toward Marron, making a face in her direction with his eyes crossed and his tongue out.  
  
When Marron didn't seem to notice he again grinned triumphantly at his boy. Hancha's eyes were wide. Had his father completely lost his mind?  
  
Yamcha's grin subsided slightly as he motioned toward Marron's back with his eyes as she poured more ingredients into her bowl. Hancha's eyes widened in confusion, and his father jerked his head in his wife's direction, trying to get his message across.  
  
"Me?" the teen mouthed, receiving an enormous grin and nod from the much older man. Hancha blinked in confusion before he developed his own lop- sided grin and turning toward his mother crossed his eyes and made a pig nose, grinning gaily at his dad afterward.  
  
Marron seemed oblivious to her boys' actions as she poured her concoction into a casserole dish, arranging a package of fresh chicken breasts on top. While they, on the other hand, were feeling quite proud of themselves for duping her motherly panorama vision.  
  
Yamcha was turning his head toward Marron to make another face when Hancha shook his head, a gleam in his eye. Yamcha simply smiled conspiratorially at his boy who returned the smile before looking toward his mother, putting his thumbs in his ears, waggling his fingers in the air and sticking out his tongue while grossly crossing his eyes.  
  
Yamcha barely caught his laughter in his throat by covering his mouth, his ancient eyes dancing with a youth far below his years as Marron quickly spun around with a sigh and disapproving expression.  
  
"All right you two. That's quite enough," she scolded two meekly bowed heads. "You guys get out of here and let me finish supper before I get out that frying pan Chi-Chi gave me last Christmas," she threatened as both men cowered lower in their chairs. "Now get!" she shooed, flapping her dish towel in their direction, and the father-son duo quickly complied, making a hasty escape only moments before her angry façade crumbled, and she chuckled to herself with a smile as she went back to dinner. "What am I going to do with those two?" she softly mused.  
  
A few moments later, hearing a noise outside her window, Marron glanced out to spy the men of her life on the front lawn in identical horse stances as Yamcha instructed and demonstrated for Hancha the proper technique of a straight punch, beaming with pride as the boy copied him perfectly. For once they were getting along perfectly, like a family was meant to be.  
  
Softly smiling, Marron turned to wash her used dishes sitting in the sink, lightly muttering to herself, "Not like him my ass."  
  
A/N: Well, what did you think? Personally, I love lil Hancha! He's the greatest! He's totally hot and way adorable! If you would like to learn more about him, please email me. Oh, and most importantly, please review! I want to know what you think! Gotta love feedback! And thanks for reading! ^_^ 


End file.
